I rarely go to big box stores anymore, but I had to do some non-creative shopping for two wedding showers, so I made the trek with Georgia out to the struggling old mall where the Target is the only bustling store. During the car ride I broke the sad news to Georgia that we couldn’t get a dog before her birthday. (Once I started reading about dog training I realized it was all going to be up to me, and we would have to wait until October to be done with the many plans that would interfere with a happy dog.) She took it amazingly well, completely understanding that it would be cruel to get a dog until we could give it our full attention. I decided that she definitely deserved a treat, and that I’d let her choose something at the store when her inevitable consumer frenzy hit.

“So when we get in here, we can look, we can add things to your birthday list, and I would like to buy you one thing, because you have been so amazing about the dog. Thank you for understanding about that,” I said. Then I realized I better put a limit on it. “We can spend $10, so you can either get one thing for $10 or a couple of things that add up to $10.”

She was excited; I assured myself that it would all be OK, since it was also turning into a math lesson! Then in the store I printed out two registries, fourteen pages total. What a waste! Surely they could give you a little Targetberry GPS that beeps “warmer… warmer… hot!” when you’re getting near a registered item. So I was starting off less than enthusiastic, but was determined to just remain calm and maybe even enjoy myself.

The Target experience used to be fun for me, a trip for $5 toilet paper turning into a $100 consumer frenzy. They had irresistible, inexpensive knick-knacks reminiscent of my favorite eras. But the fun was short-lived, and I nearly always walked out of the store with too much useless stuff and the beginnings of a buyer’s remorse headache. Once I started being mindful of my purchases, what impact the product or store has on the world, and my true needs, the glow started to fade. And once I started noticing that Georgia was directly in the consumer crosshairs it was easy for me to give up big box shopping to keep her away from the commercial culture I now rage so angrily against.

The day we were shopping for wedding gifts everything seemed especially cheap to me. The clothing felt flimsy, the home décor was a cheap knockoff of a cheap era. I felt let down—I had some money to spend and I was trying, but I was struck how toxic the store smelled, how unpleasant the lighting was, and I was disappointed in nearly everything I saw, especially children's shoes. We quickly chose two wedding gifts from house wares and then moved over the toy aisle.

“Oooh, look how pretty this is, it has makeup and hair stuff.” It was a Bratz makeup head. “Can I get it?”

“I’m sorry sweetie, that’s too much, but we can put it on your birthday list.” I said, with nary a hint of the scorn I feel for the Bratz franchise.

“Yes! On the list!” she said, and she moved on happily.

Once Georgia got the gist of how much (or really how little) $10 is, she adjusted admirably. A lot of stuff went on the list, she was interested in science stuff, and lots of things in the Boy Toys aisle (do they have to delineate?) and, of course, plenty in the sparkly pink aisle. But she finally settled on a cheap jumbo microphone, which somehow does sort of amplify her voice, and a little play set with dogs and puppies, and cats and kittens. No apparent brand tie-in. She was satisfied, and we moved to leave. I stopped and wondered what used to keep me there. I glanced into the men’s clothes, walked through the cosmetics aisle, and realized how far away from this I’d come. I think I’m done now, but I did need that last trip to really make the point. I’m sure I’ll end up back at a big box store for something, sometime, but now I know for sure that I am not the target they are seeking!

Photo credti: modenadude